


Liam O'Brien: Were-Cat

by breathtaken



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: Cats, Crack, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Were-Creatures, shady government agencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: He pats the cushion and the cat jumps up beside him, overshooting slightly and headbutting him in the arm, before flopping down across the remaining two thirds of the couch like it never happened, tail thumping once against the armrest."You're really not very good at this whole cat thing, are you," Sam says.





	Liam O'Brien: Were-Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [videogamedoc87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/videogamedoc87/gifts).

> Here I am, dropping this fanfic at your feet like a dead bird on a doormat. I have #noregerts and I hope you don't either.
> 
> As usual, please don't share.

Sam likes to think he's a pretty together kind of guy. He has a wonderful family, professional success, and can afford to get something ridiculous off Amazon Prime every now and then without having to count the pennies. People even tell him he's funny on the regular.

But if there's one chink in his otherwise highly-polished armour, it's that the witty and well-dressed caveman inside of it always has one eye out for potential disasters, for other shoes that may be waiting to drop. You know. Just in case.

So when his best buddy Liam’s family are out of town and Sam asks him if he wants to have a boys’ night in, but gets no response, well. 

Maybe Sam’s just being paranoid – but this really isn’t normal. Liam’s practically glued to his phone, and when Sam’s texted and called twice and it’s been a full hour and a half, that little voice in the back of his mind starts to say, _ what if. _

Liam’s probably fine. 

But what if he isn’t?

And in truth, Sam’s been low-key worried for a while.

In the last couple years, Liam’s been sick a _ lot. _Never with anything that serious, but it seems like every month or two he drops out of commission for a few days and returns visibly worse for wear, wincing whenever he moves and with the kinds of bags under his eyes that it takes a professional to hide. As the success of Critical Role has started snowballing, Sam doesn’t know if it’s got worse or just more noticeable, but it’s clear that something’s not right.

And Liam, who is his best friend and wears his heart on his sleeve, won’t talk about it. Sure, he’s told Sam he’s managing, and hinted at having some gross and embarrassing condition that nobody would actually want to hear about anyway, but every time Sam’s tried to dig for details Liam’s wriggled out of it, with varying levels of subtlety.

He should have pushed, Sam decides as he gets in the car, not a little guilty. He should have refused to take no for an answer, instead of just letting Liam tell him it’s fine when they both know it clearly isn’t.

What could be so awful that Liam won’t even tell _ him? _

He's just gonna go for a drive past his house and see if everything's okay. He's sure it will be. Liam is probably just getting an early night, or forgot to charge his phone. He's a big boy, after all, he can take care of himself. This is just for Sam's own peace of mind.

If the lights are off, then he knows Liam's asleep. If his car's not there, he'll be out.

But when Sam pulls up to find the lights on in the living room _ and _ Liam's car in the driveway, his unease only deepens.

Guess it's time for them to have that long overdue talk about whatever this is, because if Sam’s worried enough to come over to Liam’s house because he thinks he might need help and be unable to ask for it, then things have already gone too far. 

He parks up, and goes and rings the doorbell.

Nothing. No voices, no footsteps, nothing.

He counts to thirty and rings again, longer this time, unease starting to tip over into fear.

Then he fumbles for his keychain, never more glad that he and Liam are each other's spare key buddies as well.

He fumbles the key in the lock, but eventually gets it open, pushing the door open with slightly too much force – and freezes on the threshold as he comes eye to eye with some sort of giant cat, easily as big as a person, standing statue-still at the bottom of the stairs.

For a split second their eyes lock – then it bolts up the stairs, or tries to, but loses its footing somewhere around the third or fourth step and tumbles straight back down again in a way Sam has _ never _ seen a cat do, its back hitting the floor hard enough to make Sam wince in sympathy as it rolls over in a tangle of unruly limbs.

Sam squeaks and immediately claps a hand over his mouth.

The cat bolts into the living room.

Sam pulls the door mostly-shut in front of him, holding it in place with one hand as he fumbles for his phone with the other. His fingers are shaking.

It's not a _ big cat _big cat, at least. He thinks. Definitely no massive jaws dripping with his best friend's blood. Best he could tell, it looked like a house cat, only an absolutely fucking massive one.

Fortunately, Amy picks up at the second ring.

"Hey. Sorry to call so late." Though it's earlier in New York, of course, he remembers belatedly.

"_Sam. Is everything okay?_"

"Not really, no." His voice comes out too high. "I'm at your house."

"_Sam._"

After nearly twenty years, he knows Liam's wife well enough to know that tone of voice. 

She knows _exactly_ why her husband’s not answering the phone and there’s a giant fucking cat in her house.

"What – _ is _that?"

She sighs.

"_'That' – is Liam._"

In the silence that follows, Sam hears a record scratch in his mind, and thinks, _ You're probably wondering how I got here. _

He can only assume he’s just blue-screened, losing access to all his faculties and only leaving pop culture references.

"Come again?" he says, because even though he heard what she said perfectly well, that doesn't mean there's any universe in which he actually _ understands _ it.

Then, if things couldn't get even _ worse, _ Amy starts _ crying. _

"_Could you stay with him? Please? He's not dangerous, I promise. I didn't want to leave him but we'd already bought the plane tickets, and he insisted, and we're not allowed to tell anyone – _"

_ Not allowed... _good thing he didn't just call animal control then. Or the zoo.

"Oh my God. Of course I'll stay. Please don’t cry," Sam says helplessly. "He's... _ okay, _right? I mean, apart from the obvious?"

"_Yeah. It's just tonight. He'll change back in the morning." _

There's so much to unpack here that Sam barely knows where to start.

"Can he... understand me?"

"_Kind of? He said it's difficult, he doesn't remember much. But he knows his name for sure. And he knows us._"

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'll stay here. I'm just glad he's okay."

"_Thank you. Thank you so much._"

"Shh. It's okay. You know I'd do anything for you guys. I'll look after him tonight. Just try and enjoy your trip."

He gets his gym bag from the car and lets himself back into the house as Amy runs him through the practicalities: there's raw steak in the fridge, don’t open the curtains or the windows, don’t use the blender, it freaks him out. 

The cat – _ Liam, _ Sam reminds himself, only a little hysterically – still hasn't reappeared, even though he's seen Sam and must still be able to hear him. _ Knows _him still, according to Amy, though even with Sam's impressive improv skills he has no idea what the fuck he'd be doing with himself if he were in Liam's shoes right now. 

Not that he can wear shoes.

Sam says goodbye to Amy, with a final reassurance that he'll take good care of their husband, hangs up, and steps slowly and cautiously into the living room.

As in the hallway, the lights are already on, and the cat is hiding under the coffee table.

Unfortunately for Liam, his coffee table has a glass top.

Between this and falling down the stairs, Sam thinks he might just be really, really _ bad _ at being a cat.

He has to spend a few full seconds biting his lip to stop himself from laughing because really, the end of a fluffy tail is sticking out into the room and this whole thing is absolutely fucking _ absurd. _

Sam walks slowly around the table. 

"Liam." He keeps his voice gentle – he's not sure if Liam is terrified like a cat is terrified or like a person, but the fact that his best friend is _ hiding from him under a coffee table _is probably an answer. "Come on out, buddy. It's okay. Amy told me everything, and I'm gonna stay here with you. Come on."

He crouches down in front of the table, and holds out a hand.

He holds his breath as one, two, three seconds pass – then slowly, the cat's head warily starts to emerge, ears flattened against his skull, and sniffs Sam's hand.

When the cat suddenly opens his jaws, Sam flinches and snatches his hand back.

For a moment they both freeze, staring at each other. 

Liam-the-cat does have bigger jaws than a house cat – he’s a bobcat, maybe, though Sam doesn't think they're supposed to be _ this _big. He's a dark tabby colour, with long fur and amber eyes, and Sam can't remember for the life of him if he's supposed to be staring him down or not but if he needs to establish dominance here then that's what he'll do.

Then the cat lets out a small, pitiful whine, and retreats back under the table.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Sam says, immediately contrite, getting down on his hands and knees and putting his head on the carpet so he can see under the table, a set of large, luminous eyes staring back at him. "It's okay. I promise. You just startled me. But it's okay. Will you come out of there?" 

He sighs, sits back on his haunches. "If you need a minute, that's okay. I'm not going anywhere. Amy asked me to take care of you." If he knows his own name then he'll know hers, Sam reasons. "And if I have to sing at you then I will."

It's probably a coincidence that at that, the cat's head once again starts to emerge from under the table.

Sam waits and watches as more and more cat just keeps on coming – as much cat as person, he realises, he's impressed all of it even _ fit _ under there – on gangly, uncertain legs, like he doesn't quite know how to use them properly.

He keeps very, very still as the cat moves closer, and sniffs his neck.

Then he pushes his face against Sam's with a happy chirp, and a waft of meat-breath following it that makes Sam recoil.

"Okay. Let's get on the couch, yeah? I'm too old to keep sitting on the floor. If you're allowed on the couch, that is. I didn't get any instructions about it either way."

He pats the cushion and the cat jumps up beside him, overshooting slightly and headbutting him in the arm, before flopping down across the remaining two thirds of the couch like it never happened, tail thumping once against the armrest. 

"You're really not very good at this whole cat thing, are you," Sam says.

The cat gives him what could be interpreted as an icy stare.

"Well, you're not." Sam shrugs, and holds up his hand again.

There's only a moment's hesitation before the cat pushes his head against Sam's hand again, starting to purr like an engine.

"I stand corrected," Sam says, and chucks him under the chin, the cat angling his head until Sam's giving him scritches exactly where he wants them.

If he thinks about the fact that he's really petting _ Liam _then it's fucking weird, of course, but it's actually pretty difficult to think of it that way. The evidence of Sam's senses is that this is a cat, that he looks and feels and (mostly) behaves like a cat, and even if Liam is in there somewhere, that essential Liam-ness is not something Sam has access to right now.

"I'm gonna have so many questions for you tomorrow morning. Amy said you aren't _ allowed _to tell anyone." He watches the ears prick up at the mention of her name. "So I guess I'm gonna forgive you for keeping this from me for what, like, two years? Provided you’ve at least signed the Official Secrets Act." 

The cat steps up onto Sam's stomach and starts making biscuits, his sharp claws digging straight through his shirt and into the skin. He weighs – probably whatever Liam weighs.

"Ow! Jesus Christ." Sam shoves him off. "You're _ far _too heavy for that."

The cat stares at him for a moment, then sits back on his haunches and reaches out again with his front paws, padding much more gently while keeping his weight off Sam's belly. It looks absolutely ridiculous.

"You're fucking with me right now," Sam says. 

The cat ignores him, and continues his biscuit-making.

"Look at those big fluffy feet. I bet you'd be really popular on Instagram. If I didn't have to worry about the cat NSA turning up at my door, that is." Sam pushes his hand under his chin for more pets, mainly to try and distract him from making any more tiny holes in Sam's shirt, and grins when he sprawls onto his back. "Do you want belly rubs? I bet you want belly rubs." He reaches out and weaves his fingers into the soft, thick fur as the cat arches his spine in pleasure. "I should warn you, if you attack me then I'll retaliate through the medium of D&D Beyond ad bits." The cat chirps. "No, I don’t think you want that either. My wit is even sharper than those sharp kitty claws."

He pulls his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. "I'm gonna text Q and tell her you're shitting your guts out and need me to mop your brow. I probably can't tell her the truth, can I. Though I'm not sure how I'd get her to believe me. I'm not even sure _ I _believe it. Actually, I'm probably being punk'd right now. That's significantly more likely than you actually having turned into a cat." 

He scratches the cat's ears again, the low, heavy purr still rumbling in his chest. "I'm just flattered you think I’m worth the effort. Though you did have no idea I was even gonna come over here. And Amy cried on the phone, she wouldn't do that to me for the sake of a prank. She's not as much of a little shit as you are." 

The cat just closes his eyes and presses his head into Sam's belly, so clearly he's not actually listening.

"Okay. Sure. Well, I don’t know about you, mister cat, but I'm gonna get comfy."

Sam gets up and goes into the hallway, hearing the telltale thump of the cat jumping down and following behind him as he kicks off his shoes and gets a beer from the fridge, slipping the cat a couple slices of bacon while he's there, which he wolfs down so quickly that Sam isn’t sure he even chewed.

Sam opts for music instead of TV, putting on some retrowave in the background and hoping Liam likes it as much as a cat as he does as a person; then he goes and pees, gets a glass of water for good measure, and spends twenty seconds rummaging around in his bag for no reason other than to test his theory that the cat is actually following him wherever he goes.

Of course, the moment Sam turns around he turns tail and stalks back into the living room as if he couldn't care less.

When Sam sits back down on the couch, this time the cat jumps right into his lap, knocking the wind out of him, lays down on his chest, and licks his face with a rough tongue.

Sam wipes his cheek with the back of his hand.

"So do you want me to call you Frumpkin, or...?"

The cat headbutts him, and starts purring again.

He picks up his phone again, holding it thoughtfully in his hand as he considers whether it's actually worth Googling ‘men who turn into cats’, and decides he'll just end up with conspiracy theories, porn he didn't need to know about and/or on a government watchlist. 

Instead he mindlessly opens the weather app – and pauses when he sees it's a full moon tonight.

He looks reflexively at the window – but the curtains are closed, and Amy was very clear about keeping them that way, even if he had wanted to try and get a hundred and eighty pounds' worth of cat off his chest to go and have a look.

Of course he has no way of knowing for sure if Liam's bouts of 'sickness' always coincide with full moons, but it's starting to seem entirely possible – as possible as any of this is, anyway.

"Are you a werewolf cat, then?" he asks, scratching the cat under his chin. "A were-cat? Hmm? I love you anyway, of course, but it _ is _a bit hilarious. Hate to break it to you, but you're really not very fearsome. You're just a massive softie, aren't you? Yes you are, yes you are."

He remembers a moment too late that this is apparently his best friend he's baby-talking and giving belly rubs to – but fuck it. Didn't Amy say he wouldn't really remember? 

And if he does – well. It will at least be hilarious.

"Q says get well soon. She told me not to get too close, but I think that's probably a lost cause, eh?" He belatedly realizes the cat is headbutting his hand because he's stopped petting, and puts his phone down. "Well, you haven't forgotten how to be a drama queen, have you."

He takes a swig of his beer, and boops the cat on the nose with the bottle, grinning at his disgruntled expression.

"This is why you never have time to hang out with me, isn't it."

The cat closes his eyes and puts his head back on Sam's chest.

"Did you tell the kids? I can't believe you told the kids." Sam thinks about it for a moment. "But I can't imagine _ not _ telling them. If it was me and mine, anyway. I bet they'd think it was _ super cool._" He does a crappy Jester impression, which Liam will enjoy if he's listening. "And it's probably that or lock yourself in the basement for the night. Ugh. I've made myself sad now thinking about it." 

He's not entirely joking – the idea of this beautiful, affectionate creature being on his own like this, separated from the ones he loves, is kind of horrible, whether it's Liam in there or not.

He can't imagine that would be necessary. He understands the need for secrecy, sure, but to anyone who knows him less well than Sam does, Liam's been living an apparently normal life for the last few years.

He has another drink, and promptly stifles a massive yawn. 

"I can't remember the last time I had such a quiet evening. It was probably before I had kids. It does make a nice change. I think I'm gonna ask Amy if she'll need a cat sitter every now and then."

He scrolls through his socials for a bit while he finishes his beer, giving the cat's ears an occasional scratch. His purring has quietened down, which Sam takes to mean he's probably fallen asleep.

He gently picks up one of the cat's paws and rests it on his own hand, where it completely fills his palm.

He takes a picture, and makes sure there aren't any identifying details in the background before he sends it to Amy.

> _ Me: Sleeping Beauty here's doing just fine :) _

She replies within a minute:

> _ Amy KOB: I'm glad but for the love of God please do not take any more pictures _
> 
> _ Amy KOB: I don’t want you to get in trouble _
> 
> _ Sam: Oops _
> 
> _ Sam: Do I need to delete this one? _
> 
> _ Amy KOB: It would probably be wiser but I'm not gonna make you _

Sam grins. From Amy, he knows that means she thinks it's just as adorable as he does. 

> _ Sam: Good. I couldn't bear to delete these beautiful toe beans!!_

He sets the picture as his lock screen, then shoves gently at the cat's shoulder.

"Liam. Liam. Come on, it's bedtime. Up you get, come on."

If cats can grumble, this one does as it stands up in Sam's lap – only narrowly missing his junk – and jumps gracelessly down, pausing in the open doorway as if to ask why he's not following yet.

"I've only got two legs," he points out. "That means it takes me twice as long."

The cat looks at him for a moment, then slinks from the room. Sam reflects that it's all in the timing.

He turns off the lights downstairs and locks up before following the cat upstairs, only to find it's curled expectantly on top of the covers in Liam and Amy's bedroom.

“Oh no. I’m not sleeping with you in your marital bed,” Sam tells him, “even if you are a cat.”

He turns around, goes down the hall and lets himself into the guest room.

When he comes back from the bathroom, ready to sleep, the cat is already there waiting for him, curled up in a ball that takes up at least two thirds of the bed. 

“Come on, shove over,” Sam says, pulling at the comforter until the cat gets up again with a disgruntled _ mrrp, _ turning around a couple times before flopping down along Sam’s side, with his legs stretched out in front of him. 

Sam turns off the light.

A minute later he says aloud, “Fuck it,” and turns over, throwing an arm over the cat’s body and burying his fingers in the soft fur. “I won’t tell anyone you turned into a cat, and you don’t tell anyone I spooned you. Deal?”

The only response is a low, rumbling purr.

* * *

When Sam wakes up he’s being shoved, and there’s a stifled cry of pain beside him.

His eyes snap open to see Liam – the real Liam, lying naked on his back, his eyes wide and his hands clapped over his mouth, and for a split second he looks _ wrong _ in a way Sam can’t articulate –

But he blinks and it’s gone so quickly that he’s not sure if he imagined it, and it’s his best friend lying beside him, staring at the ceiling as he shakes and whimpers in pain.

“_Liam,_” Sam says urgently, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

He snatches it back like he’s been burned when Liam flinches, hissing as his eyes snap to Sam, and for the first time since he opened the front door, Sam feels a jolt of fear.

“Liam. It’s me.” He holds his hand up, careful not to touch him again. “Are you with me?”

“There’s a bottle. On my nightstand.” Liam’s voice sounds like it’s been blown out from a week of doing video game deaths, though Sam knows for a fact he’s done no such thing. “And water.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” he promises, already getting up. 

The bottle is suspiciously unlabelled except for a long string of numbers, and when Sam shakes it, it clearly contains pills. It’s been set out with a glass of water beside it, in front of Liam’s glasses, like Liam knew he’d need to reach for it the moment he woke up, and the whole thing sends a chill down Sam’s spine. 

When he goes back into the spare bedroom Liam hasn’t moved, and he’s still shaking.

“Liam. Can you sit up?” Sam gets back under the covers, sitting up against the headboard. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m okay,” Liam gasps, pushing himself up onto his elbows with a wince and then stopping there, taking a shuddering breath.

“Let me help you,” Sam insists. “How many pills?”

“Two.”

He feeds Liam the pills and a few sips of water, watching carefully as he swallows with a grimace. “I brought your glasses as well.”

“I’m good,” Liam says, looking down at himself. “Sorry.”

“That it took you seventeen years to get naked in my bed? So am I,” Sam replies, and the clenching around his heart eases a little when Liam gives a weak chuckle. “How much pain are you in?”

“I’m fine,” Liam says, which Sam takes to mean, _ a lot. _“I woke you up.”

“No earlier than my kids do.” 

“Can you – help me get under the covers?”

“Sure.” With some gritting of teeth, Liam’s able to lift himself up enough for Sam to drag the comforter out from under him and then cover him up, making sure to tuck him in all the way round like he does with his kids.

When he gets back in beside him, Liam visibly hesitates for a moment before rolling over and resting his head on Sam’s thigh.

Sam puts a careful arm around his shoulder, and resists the temptation to scratch behind his ears.

He asks, “How long do you need?”

“I can get up in about a half hour.”

“And before you tell me the whole story?”

Liam sighs. “Ten minutes?”

“Sure.” Sam looks at his phone; it’s just before six. “I can stay for a bit. I can even make you breakfast.”

“I won’t say no.” Liam blinks wearily up at him. “I think we’ve got bacon.”

“You ate all the bacon last night.”

“Oh. Then we don’t.” Liam frowns. “I don’t remember.”

“Amy told me you wouldn’t remember much.” Liam looks at him sharply, and immediately winces as it jostles something in his back. “I called her when I opened your front door and found a giant cat.”

“Why’d you come over?”

“Cause I was worried. I knew the family were away and I asked if you wanted to hang out, but you didn’t pick up. So I came by.” Sam puts a hand between his shoulder blades, and when he doesn’t flinch again, begins to rub in gentle circles. “I’m glad I did.”

“Knowing about this could put you in danger, did she tell you that as well?”

“Yeah. But it’ll be okay. I’m not gonna put it on Twitter. How’d it happen?”

Liam sighs again. “Amy’s cousin.”

“She bit you?!”

Liam gives him a flat look. “No, you dumbass. We were drunk at a party. She smashed a bottle and cut herself. I tried to help her, cut myself, we accidentally blood pacted. Two days later these two Agent Smith characters show up at my doorstep.” His jaw is tight.

“How shady?”

“The shadiest. I laughed in their faces at first. Thought it was some kind of joke. Then Amy came into the room, and I saw her face. _ Then _ I was terrified.” He swallows. “The first couple times were the worst. I had to change at a – facility, of some sort.” There’s a horrible moment where he’s clearly thinking something that he doesn’t want to say. “After three months they said I was okay to do it at home. Gave me the pills.”

Sam decides to ignore his remaining misgivings, and scritches Liam behind the ear. He has to suppress a smile when Liam closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“What does it feel like?”

“Have you ever dislocated something?” Sam nods. “It’s like when they pop it back in, but it’s your entire body.”

Sam winces. “_Jesus._” 

“Pretty much. But it is what it is. I’m just glad I’m still here. That I get to keep my life, and my family.” He says it so matter-of-factly, but Sam recognises the shine of tears in his eyes, and hugs him just a little harder. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” He pulls a stray lock of Liam’s hair off his forehead. “And since shady government agencies are involved, I forgive you for not telling me. Which I think is very magnanimous of me. Did you tell the kids?”

“Yeah. They think it’s amazing that Daddy can turn into a giant cat.”

Sam smiles. “I bet.” 

“We were worried about them spilling the beans, but keeping it from them would have been harder. So we took the risk.” 

They’re both silent for a few moments, Sam scratching the short-clipped hair at Liam’s hairline, in what he hopes is a steady, reassuring rhythm.

“So what did we do last night? Based on your current behaviour I’m guessing there were lots of scritches.”

“How do you know this isn’t my usual bedside manner,” Sam jokes. “Well, when I opened the door you tried to race up the stairs, fell back _ down _the stairs and then hid under the coffee table.”

Liam barks out a laugh. “Is that why I feel particularly shitty this morning.”

“And then you spent half the evening trying to hump my leg.” Beneath his touch, Liam freezes. “I’m joking. About the humping, that is. You did fall down the stairs and then try to hide under a glass coffee table, that part really happened.”

“Seriously. Do _ not _ joke about that. I live in fear.”

“You have some control though, right?”

Liam frowns. “Kinda? It’s like being drunk. I mean, not really, but that’s the closest experience I can think of. If you really concentrate then you can make yourself do the things you know that sober you would want, but it’s a lot easier to just... go with the flow.”

“Far out, dude.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, so Sam counts it as a win.

“And yes. You demanded constant scritches. And tried to make biscuits on my stomach, despite weighing about two hundred pounds. I have some souvenir puncture wounds. And look.” He reaches for his phone, and shows Liam his lock screen. “BFFs. Aren’t we the cutest?”

Liam gives him a look. “I think you’ll find _ I’m _the cutest.”

“I think you’ll find you _ were _ the cutest. Looking at you this morning, I’m definitely not going to be sending your wife any more gooey texts about your beautiful feet for at least another twenty-seven days.”

Liam’s laughter quickly turns into another wince. “Ow. Why must you be so funny so early.”

“Because one of us has gotta be.” Sam gives his head a final pat, before getting up. “Now, you just stay there and work on looking pretty, and I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“You’re my favourite husband.” Liam’s cheeky smile turns abruptly earnest. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, but you tolerate me, which is all I could ever ask.” Sam winks, before turning and leaving the room. 

As he closes the door behind him he pauses with his hand on the handle, looks at his new lock screen picture, and smiles. 


End file.
